Derived from the Italian for goddess, the term diva has a long history, its beginnings in the 16th century, when female performers first emerged from all-male actor troupes to transfix audiences. It wasn't, however, until the early 19th century, when Donizetti, Rossini et al began composing operas with outsized roles for sopranos, that crowds began to grasp that while all divas were virtuosos, not all virtuosos were divas - and that the designation was the public's alone to award.

Singers such as Jenny Lind (1820-87), AKA the Swedish nightingale, and Adelina Patti (1843-1919), the first performer to be described in print as a diva, were worshipped across Europe not only for their ability to perform bel canto, but for their uncommon charisma and the spell they cast on their besotted fans.

But if it may be applied, as it is here, to all manner of performers, it has pejorative connotations as well as laudatory ones. While this show is for the most part a celebration, it's also interested in the darker side of the diva: in the all-encompassing fame that can destroy peace of mind.  Among the glitter, tragedy is lurking.

All this is juicy fun: as sparkly a roll call as you'll find in a grand art institution. Marie Lloyd lent her support to striking co-workers. It's fascinating to see her engagement book for London's Oxford music hall between 1908 and 1918, her wages easily eclipsing those of her peers. When Lloyd died in 1922 - by the end, she was an alcoholic - the crowd that gathered to watch her funeral procession was 100,000-strong.

It's almost too much, the high-octane glamour. The dresses worn by Cher (pheasant feathers for the MGM Grand in Las Vegas) and Lady Gaga (rivers of silk by Valentino); by Rihanna (a silvery coat and - yes - mitre by John Galliano) and Tina Turner (Bob Mackie's showstopping flame dress from 1977). Each must have been dazzling on stage, or even on the red carpet.

Diva is at the V&A, London, until 7 April 2024.